Robert and Ruth’s apartment was a sparse, sizeable room, and Maggie assumed that the other living quarters in the longhouse were similar. Wooden beams supported rafters covered in tin. A hammock swung from two of the posts, and a queen-sized bed lay in one corner. Next to the bed was the only other piece of furniture in the space, an antique-looking dresser. In the other corner was a rudimentary kitchen, the small fireplace vented by a rock chimney. The guests and their hosts sat in a circle on mats in what Maggie decided was the apartment’s living room. The apartment had no radio, TV, or electricity. The bathroom was across the bamboo patio on the “dirty side,” as Robert called it. The Iban designed their complexes to open on the clean, river side. The back or unclean side was where sewage and garbage were recycled into the jungle below. Maggie wondered if the pigs, chickens, and dogs had a part in that, but she tried not to think about it as Robert’s wife placed a large platter of fried chicken in front of them.
“Maggie, would you mind saying a blessing over the food?” Robert asked and smiled at her.
“It would be an honor,” she said and bowed her head. “Father,” she began, but a lump formed in her throat. There was so much to be thankful for. “I thank You for this precious couple that has invited us into their home. Bless them and their family. Bless them in their comings and goings. Father, I sense Your sweet presence here. Bless our time and bless this food. In Jesus’s name, Amen.”
Robert and Ruth loudly added, “Amen.”
The meal included simple servings of rice, fried chicken, and bowls of fruit—bananas and something she didn’t recognize. Robert handed the platter of chicken to Wright to start the feast. Wright took a couple of pieces and passed the platter to Maggie. She didn’t recognize any of the chicken cuts and hesitated.
Wright came to her rescue. “They cut the chicken a bit different than you’re used to. They lay the chicken down and take the machete and go, whack, whack, whack, down the chicken.” He demonstrated with karate-chops.
Maggie grinned, nodded, and took a few pieces. It looked delicious however it was cut.
“Here, you have to have one of these,” Wright said and grabbed a piece from the pile. “You normally have to pay extra for this.” He grinned at her, as she stared at the fried chicken foot on her plate.
“Uh…thank you…I think.”
As Maggie sniffed at the three-toed delight, something caught her peripheral vision. She looked up to see a huge spider dangling from a web, descending from the rafters. She screamed and sprang toward Wright, almost spilling the contents of her plate.
Robert scrambled to his feet, grabbed a broom from the corner of the room and swatted at the spider. It fell onto the mat next to Maggie and wiggled to regain its footing. She screamed louder and jumped, practically into Wright’s lap.
With one hard whack of the broom, the spider lay flattened and dead.
“Oh my Lord. Is that the typical size of spiders you have here?” Maggie asked. Her voice still an octave above normal. She spread out her fingers and held her hand over the dead spider to judge its size. Its body and legs were huge, much bigger than her hand.
“Bad, bad, spider,” Robert said, shaking his finger at the dead arachnid.
Ruth scooped the corpse into a plastic dustpan and walked out the door. Maggie assumed she would dump it on the dirty side.
“Pleasssse tell me that is the only one of those I’ll see on this trip,” Maggie said, realizing she still clutched Wright’s arm.
“Okay, that is the only one left on the entire island of Borneo,” he teased her.
She let go and slapped his arm.
Heat rose in her neck as she scooted back to her seat. “I’m so sorry, you all, I didn’t mean to make such a fuss. I didn’t know the world held such creatures.” She laughed, and everyone laughed with her.
She glanced at Wright to make sure he’d taken her outburst in stride. She loved how he smelled—earthy and animalistic. He was handsome to be sure, with his luscious hair, enchanting eyes, and inviting smile. And it wasn’t just his unfathomable wealth, but his natural confidence and relaxed manner, Maggie imagined, that caused women to swoon. She wondered why he was still unattached. Arousal—an emotion she had long disregarded—was percolating within her and it confused her spirit. After hours of prayer and contemplation, making a romantic attempt with Nicklaus had seemed right and proper. Then in strolled Wright, looking very much like a handsome Blackfeet warrior. Maggie pushed the awakenings from her thoughts.
* * *
Dinner was simple and delicious, and afterward they sipped tuak.
“I put a little honey in yours, Ms. Maggie,” Robert said and smiled at her. He must have seen her turn her nose up at the thought of drinking the alcohol, but the men were thoroughly enjoying themselves, swapping stories and drinking too much of the wine. The candlelight danced off their animated faces and the walls of the longhouse room. She kept a wary eye open for another one of the hand-sized spiders.
“Dr. Nickloss,” Robert turned to Nick. “I have been hesitant to ask you for a favor.”
“What can I do for you?” Nick sipped his tuak.
“As you can imagine, it is very difficult for my people to get medical care. Would you mind putting on your doctor’s hat and seeing a few people in the morning?”
Maggie was interested in how Nick would respond, knowing that after the injury to his eyes, he thought his doctoring days were over. She knew him well and watched him struggle. He took a large swig of his wine.
“I suppose I could see a couple of people. You do know I’m just a dumb bone doctor…and I’ve been out of the business for a while…I’m a little rusty.”
“Thank you, Dr. Nickloss. I appreciate it.”
Out in the common area, Maggie heard people talking and walking around. Over the last hour, the commotion in the hallway had grown, and she turned her head to listen. The walls were far from soundproof. She imagined that living here, one would get to know her neighbors well.
“How have the Iban survived financially?” Nick asked.
“My people have traded with the Chinese for thousands of years—gold, camphor, hornbill ivory, rhinoceros horn, bird nests, and of course, dragon’s blood,” Robert said and looked at Wright.
“Dragon’s blood?” Maggie turned back to Robert.
“Yes, dragon’s blood,” Wright said and looked a bit disapprovingly at Robert. He said something harsh to Robert, who said something equally severe back. Maggie could not tell if the men were joking, serious, or had too much wine.
Wright cleared the air. “Sorry, Robert’s telling secrets, and I was cursing our shared heritage. Mostly out of fun.”
Maggie was not so sure.
“We share a great-great-great-grandmother, Lenyou Aiwong, Lost Waterfall. She was one of the wives of the great warrior, Rentap. Rentap—his great-great-great-grandfather—is Robert’s lineage. James Brooke, my great-great-great-grandfather, had an affair with Lost Waterfall and my lineage was born. Rentap and Brooke were mortal enemies for more than one reason. We love to remind each other of it.”
Wright held up his wine glass to Robert, and they toasted in friendship.
“This dragon’s blood…is it true blood?” Nick asked.
Wright tilted his head back and forth as if trying to decide how much to tell them. “Well…the ancients believe it arose from the blood of elephants and dragons that died in mortal combat. Today, we know it’s not blood, but men have spilled much blood over it.” He looked again annoyed at Robert. “It’s the resin of the dracaena tree.”
Maggie chuckled nervously. “Sounds like the Dracula tree.”
“No, dracaena. It’s Greek for a ‘female dragon.’ The bright red resin has been used in medieval ritual magic, alchemy, and Chinese medicines for centuries.” Wright took a sip of his tuak and looked from Maggie to Nick and back again. “We found one of the keys to preventing the downregulation of dopamine in the resin for our new drug, Welltrex.” He threw back the rest o
f his cup of wine. “I guess I’ll have to kill you now.”
As they laughed together, the noise from the common area increased and caused them all to turn toward the door. To Maggie, it sounded like someone was upset. It was a mixture of uproar and shouting that developed into rhythmic chanting. Even Wright appeared concerned, and they all looked at Robert, who sat unfazed. Wright said something to Robert in Iban, and he chose to answer in English.
“There is nothing to worry about,” the old man said as he straightened and crossed his legs in front of him. “I told the people of my longhouse that Dr. Nickloss and Ms. Maggie were visiting us and they are Christian. Our witch doctor and his followers are not happy that you are here.”
Maggie looked at the door, wondering if they should barricade it, then back at Robert.
“Do not worry, Ms. Maggie. They are out there doing their silly chants and such. Truly, ‘No weapon formed against us can prosper.’” He quoted what was one of Maggie’s favorite scriptures. “After all, greater is Jesus in me than the evil that is in the world.”
Maggie searched the old warrior’s eyes and saw no hint of fear or worry. His faith and confidence in who he was extended beyond worldly strength.
“They will be done soon. Probably they have been drinking too much tuak and will go sleep it off.” He smiled at her. Then his expression turned serious, and he looked at Maggie and Nick. “But to be on the safe side, please do not go anywhere tonight and do not accept anything they might offer you to eat or drink.”
Maggie swallowed hard. She had experienced her share of spiritual warfare but sensed they had arrived at the devil’s doorstep. Her dream of the horse with a large handprint on its right hip rushed back to her mind—the pat hand signifying that the horse had brought the rider home unharmed from a dangerous mission. It reminded her to pray fervently.
Robert spoke to Wright in Iban and told a prolonged story. Maggie did not find the behavior rude; after all, where else would they go in the small space to have a confidential conversation? Maggie watched Robert make the same slashing motion across his neck. She wondered if they were discussing what to have for breakfast, but looking at Wright’s eyes, it seemed to be something of far more significance.
Wright listened intently, nodding occasionally, then crossed his arms in thought. He finally blew a puff of air through pursed lips and looked seriously at Maggie and Nick.
“They have had a most unfortunate incident here at the longhouse. Two nights ago, someone murdered a man in his sleep. The man was married to Robert’s granddaughter.”
Maggie saw the alarm on Nick’s face. “Do they know who did it?” Nick asked.
Wright asked Robert again in Iban, and the two seemed to have a longer discussion. Wright finally answered Nick’s question. “No, they are still searching.”
Robert turned to Nick and Maggie. “The man’s head is missing.”
CHAPTER 21
MIRACLE
Nick opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. He was powerless against the hand clutching his throat. He could no longer suck air in or vocalize words out. His arms were useless.
Run! his brain screamed at him, but he couldn’t shake the death grip or coax his arms and legs to move. The man morphed into a giant creature squeezing the life out of him.
Fight! his brain screamed again.
The massive beast, ten times the size of a man, was covered with shaggy hair so coarse that it cut Nick’s hands as he clawed at the grip around his neck. The monster laughed through sharp, glittering teeth and pierced him with blood red eyes.
“Help me!” Nick yelled, finally finding his voice.
“Nick. Nicklaus, it’s okay,” another voice said in another corner of his brain, but the monster was pulling him back into the night terror. “Nick, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
Like a high-speed elevator coming from the depths of a mine, his mind ascended into the reality of the here and now, and he gasped for breath.
“Nicklaus, you’re okay. Everything is all right.” It was Maggie’s voice.
He opened his eyes, but everything was pitch black, and he thought he had gone blind again.
“Something is wrong with you,” he thought he heard the monster sneer.
“Someone, get me some light,” Maggie yelled.
The longhouse was in chaos. Nick’s brain not only registered Maggie’s voice but the howling dogs and squealing pigs underneath the longhouse.
A bright light flashed in his eyes and Nick tried to cover them with his arm. My arm…it was dead asleep and tingled as the blood returned to the tissues. He tried moving the other one, but it had fallen through the weaving of the hammock and tangled in the rope.
“It’s okay, mate.” Wright’s voice cut through the night. “You’ve had a night terror. Everyone is okay.” He was shining a flashlight at Nick and helped him sit up in the hammock.
Nick rubbed his eyes, disoriented. He flicked his wrist back and forth as the blood returned.
Robert had joined them and held a flickering candle to Nick’s face. “Dr. Nickloss, you okay?”
Nick looked around at his friends lit in eerie shadows. His brain finally fired on all cylinders, and he laughed. “Well, that was some dream.”
Maggie put her hands over her chest. “Oh, my Lord, Nicklaus. My heart is pounding outside my body. You woke us all up with a blood-curdling scream, and then the dogs and the pigs joined in, and we thought you were being murdered.”
“Yes, you gave us quite a fright.” Wright handed him a small cup of water.
Nick took a sip. “Okay, I confess. Whatever was attacking me was ferocious…and ugly.”
Robert’s expression in the candlelight turned ominous and sober. “The Huntsman—‘be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.’”
“Who is the Huntsman?” Maggie asked.
“It is the Iban term for the devil. He is called antu gerasi.”
“Then, we pray the rest of First Peter that you quoted,” Maggie replied, “‘Resist him, standing firm in the faith.’”
“Yes, ‘Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you,’” Robert added from the book of James.
* * *
The day was beautiful. The warmth of the sun was burning off the lingering effects of the nightmare and Nick’s vision of the creature. They had slept in hammocks in Robert and Ruth’s apartment, but he wasn’t sure anyone got much sleep after he’d woken the entire longhouse with his screams. But now everything was calm. Long gone was the chanting witch doctor, the bad dream, and even the spider. Of course it was no wonder he had such a frightening dream when he’d gone to sleep with tales of dragon’s blood, headhunting, the recent beheading, and the witch doctor’s clan ready to do away with the Christians.
Ruth fed them fresh eggs and the sweetest mango that Nick had ever tasted. He could get used to this simple life with none of the often unused formal dining or sitting rooms found in the developed world. Every inch of space in the Iban dwellings was used for life’s daily activities. Very little went to waste. They unhooked their hammocks from the poles in the apartment and sat for breakfast exactly where they’d slept. Nick had no idea what time it was, and he didn’t care.
Voices and activity rose out in the common area and Nick looked at Robert, concerned the chanting might begin again.
Robert looked at him and smiled. “You mind doing some doctoring this morning?”
He had hoped that after a little more rice wine Robert would forget Nick’s promise to see a few people. Being a physician seemed to be far from his thoughts now. After his blindness, giving up his sheepskin, his doctorate diploma, was a certainty. Not only did he feel inadequate as a physician, he imagined that whatever they wanted him to look at was something completely unrelated to orthopedics. He wanted to say no but instead said, “Uh…sure.”
They stood, and Robert led them into the communal area.
Nick was surprised at what greeted them—not one or two people, but the entire community lined up in an organized queue. Anxiety filled in his mind, and his heart began to race. He wanted to run back into the apartment and away from his calling. He wanted to catch the next boat home and lock himself in his dark apartment. He was especially intimidated because the person at the front of the line was the witch doctor dressed in his regalia—the man that was said to want to slip him a deadly poison or kill him outright. The witch doctor sat cross-legged with his arms folded in front of him. He had the same sour expression that had greeted Nick and the others yesterday.
Maggie put her hand through the crook of Nick’s elbow. “I’ll help,” she said and squeezed his arm.
“Where are we going to do this?” Nick nervously asked Robert.
Robert indicated the bamboo mat in front of the witch doctor. “Here, of course.”
Nick looked at him, then at Maggie and shrugged. “I think I’ve been set up.”
“Kind of reminds you of Guatemala,” she said and laughed. “You’ll do great.”
Nick sighed loudly and allowed Maggie to lead him to the front of the line, where they sat on the floor across from the witch doctor.
“Do you speak English?” Nick asked.
The witch doctor didn’t change his expression and shook his head.
Nick looked at Wright and Robert. “Who’s going to translate?”
Robert happily volunteered and sat down next to them.
Nick thought about extending his hand to shake. Instead, he asked, “What can I do for you?”
Robert interpreted and the witch doctor launched into a long story. Nick was immediately relieved when the man didn’t point to his stomach or head or some other body part that he knew little about; instead, the man grabbed his shoulder and winced, demonstrating that he was only able to move it ten degrees in each direction.
The Rusted Scalpel Page 16
